


The Dinner Party

by thethingthathasnoname



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethingthathasnoname/pseuds/thethingthathasnoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dinner party has been arranged in London for Mary Crawley to decide once and for all the man she wants to be with after Matthew's death. The contestants: Evelyn Napier, Charles Blake, Tony Gillingham and Henry Talbot. But what happens when a certain Tom Branson - who is definitely not supposed to even be glanced at, according to Lady Mary - seems to steal the show? Not entirely sure where this would be placed in the timeline of Downton or if it would even be feasible or logical, but for the sake of this little fic, just go with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Anna, come on, decide. Which one? The black one or the red one?” Mary demanded angrily, her perfect eyes thinning in a freezing stare.

The poor lady’s maid threw up her hands in desperation. “I don’t know, m’lady. They both look the same!”

“Well, that simply isn’t true; one of them has to look better than the other. Shall I try them both on again?” Mary asked, attempting to keep her cool, but it was cracking dangerously.

“But you’ve tried them on five times already! And it’s nearly time to go down!” Anna implored.

“I can’t go down until we’ve found the perfect dress! Perhaps something else would look better?” Mary suggested with an unmoveable edge to her voice as hard as sharpened flint.

“You look beautiful in both, why does it matter so much?” Anna very nearly exclaimed.

Mary looked at her with such cold contempt that Anna felt herself shiver. “Need I remind you that at dinner tonight will be Evelyn Napier, Charles Blake, Lord Gillingham and Henry Talbot?” And Tom, she mentally added. Then, inwardly shook herself vigorously. There was no place for Tom here. “I must look my best.” She added as an afterthought in case Anna needed more prompting.

Anna sighed, resigning herself for a long evening. “Would you like to try the black one again, m’lady?”

* * *

Finally, and about half an hour later than she should have done, Mary descended the stairs of the London house. The gentlemen gathered below, notably, as suspected, Evelyn Napier, Charles Blake, Tony Gillingham and Henry Talbot, all looked up, and she was pleased at how their appraising eyes flickered over her elegant figure, accentuated by a shimmering black dress. However, and much to her own disapproval, her treacherous eyes could not help but flit over immediately to the one person who she should be singularly ignoring, namely, a Mr Tom Branson. But it seemed she could not help herself looking over, and she could not stop her traitor lips from lifting into a smile at the blatant awe upon his face.

And what was worse was that once he realised she had noticed, his disgustingly perfect features flushed a little, and his nauseatingly adorable smile burst through. Mary very nearly completely appalled herself by giggling. Very nearly. He raised one eyebrow at her as if to say “Wow.” She couldn’t stop herself raising one back saying “Likewise.”

Distressingly, or thankfully, depending on how you look at it, and how honest Mary was being about her feelings right now, she reached the bottom of the stairs and her gaze was ripped ruthlessly away from Tom and brought hurtling back to the other men in the room.

 _Who she really should be focusing on anyway,_ Mary mentally reprimanded herself.

She promised herself she would not even glance at Tom for the rest of the night.

“Mary,” Came Henry Talbot’s sly voice. “You look beautiful.”

Mary turned to him and found she had to force herself to smile. It struck her that he looked a little like a weasel. Funny, she’d never really noticed before. His face needed more… substance, more structure. Something more… Irish.

_Oh for goodness’ sakes, Mary, pull yourself together._

“Thank you, Mr Talbot, so do you.” Even to her, the words tasted fake in her mouth.

“Lady Mary,” another voice called. Turning to look, for they all sounded remarkably similar, practically indistinguishable without intense examination, Mary discovered it belonged to Charles Blake.

“Mr Blake, what a pleasure.” The plastered smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she was sure he wouldn’t notice anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady.” He kissed her hand. It felt like a dead fish against his lips.

“Lady Mary! It’s been a while.” Lord Gillingham eagerly presented himself to her right.

“Goodness Mary, you do look well.” And Evelyn Napier on her left.

“Gentlemen, it’s been too long.” Mary’s cheeks were starting to tire from all the smiling.

“It has indeed.” Gillingham agreed.

“Indeed.” Evelyn echoed.

“Too long.” Was that Charles or Henry? Goodness, Mary didn’t even know. What an evening this was going to be.

An awkward pause settled upon the room.

“Shall we go?” came a wonderfully distinctive Irish voice from somewhere a little further out.

“Yes, indeed.” One, or maybe two, of the men affirmed, and retrieving their coats and hats, they began to head out of the door, in a rather strange procession, all of them attempting to linger for Mary while hurrying the others out at the same time. It came across as a rather pathetic and baffling dance.

Mary, busying herself with the positioning of her hat, waited until they had all left before she released a heavy sigh. Then she firmly closed her eyes, and set her mind, and when she looked back up, her eyes were steeled and determined. She would find the one tonight.

She lifted her chin and headed towards the door, but just as she reached for the handle, she felt someone gently grip her arm.

Turning, she found Tom’s anxious gaze looking back at her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” His understanding tone nearly made her want to cry.

But of course she didn’t. She was Lady Mary Crawley for goodness’ sakes and she did not blubber over some man. Or some man’s stupid words. Or anything.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?” Mary was proud of her perfected ‘indifferent’ tone that she utilised often in situations like these. No one ever saw through it.

Tom raised an eyebrow.

Apart from him apparently.

Of course, it would have to be him.

_Wait… Stop… Focus…_

“Oh be quiet, Tom.” Mary snapped.

He raised his hands. “I didn’t say anything.” He protested.

She glared.

“Just so long as you’re sure.” He whispered gently.

“I am sure.” Mary stated indignantly.

“Ok then.” It didn’t sound ok.

There was an electrifying pause.

“We should go.” Mary practically breathed.

Tom nodded and grabbed his jacket.

Just as Mary turned the handle on the door, Tom added “You look incredible, by the way.”

A jolt of warmth shot through her, tingling her fingertips and dizzying her heart.

“Thank you.” She replied coolly, trying her best to control the unruly smile threatening to blaze across her face.

Composing herself, she stepped out of the door.


	2. Chapter 2

_FOCUS!_ Mary mentally had to scream at herself for what felt like the hundredth time that hour.

Dinner was… well, it was nice. Positively pleasant. The restaurant was good, the food decent, the company fine. It was nice.

Just nice.

Mary found herself seated between Charles Blake and Tony Gillingham, with Henry Talbot two to her right and Evelyn Napier two to her left round the circular table. Tom was sitting opposite her… but that was completely irrelevant and barely even worth mentioning.

She was currently being educated about the welfare of some well-off, high status family that she was presumably somehow related to and had probably met once. However, Tony apparently knew an awful lot about them and seemed to deem it necessary to divulge all their trifling family incidents to her in the most length detail.

Well, at least it was better than being bored to death about the detailed and endless history of motor racing and how cars had ever so slightly developed over the years.

“And so, Mary, you see, it was honestly quite hilarious because Esther, the oldest daughter…” Tony Gillingham droned on and on, thankfully oblivious to the fact that Mary was practically asleep with her eyes open.

Suddenly, she felt something press against her hand resting on the dining room table. Shaking herself to a state of awareness, it took her a moment to realise it was Tony’s fingers.

She forced herself to hone back in on the words spewing incessantly from his mouth.

“Not like you, Mary.” His dull brown eyes attempted to bore into her, but barely even grazed the surface of intensity. “Your hands are so soft and dainty; her’s had been calloused and toughened from all that ridiculous writing she insisted on doing; it was frankly quite hilarious, can you believe it?”

Tony burst out into raucous laughter and Mary managed to stutter out something that could pass as a dry chuckle.

“Tony, you’re too much.” Mary’s words were stale, but her thoughts were too preoccupied with the fact that he had not yet removed his hand from hers. It was not entirely an unpleasant sensation, but it wasn’t exactly enjoyable either – it just seemed empty, cold. She felt nothing. Shouldn’t she be feeling tingles or... something?

“I’m glad you think so.” Tony’s voice had gained a deeper edge to it. It disturbed her somewhere deep within. “You know, I’ve been thinking…” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She needed to do something fast.

“So have I.” Mary agreed solemnly. Gently disengaging her hand, she held it up. “Shall I buy new gloves in beige or white?”

Tony, completely thrown off by this conversation change, replied baffled “Personally, I prefer beige. But Mary…”

However – thankfully – he was abruptly cut off by a voice from her other side: “Honestly, Tony, get with it. White gloves are much more fashionable for women these days.”

Mary released a giggle that very nearly sounded natural.

“Honestly, Tony, watch out, Charles apparently knows his stuff about gloves.”

“Only for you.” Charles murmured, brushing his own fingertips with the raised hand as she lowered it.

Again, the contact left an awkward imprint of nothing but shame on her unfeeling hand.

What was wrong with her? All these men were perfectly nice? Why were they no longer attractive to her?

“Mary!” her attention was ripped back to the present by the irritable voice of Mr Blake. He was glaring at her as though he had been trying to catch her eye for a while now.

“Sorry.” Mary blinked coolly. “I was distracted for a moment.”

“I was just trying to remind you of my latest work promotion…”

Mary decided it was safe to zone out; Charles could amuse himself for the next few hours on that topic.

Maybe it was just Charles or Tony that weren’t doing it for her. Perhaps if she refocused her efforts on Evelyn, or even Henry, they were both nice enough. But why did she feel so bland inside…

“I’m afraid I just don’t think it’s feasible that we’ll ever be able to maintain such a complicated structure in a society like this. I mean, I think the base ideas behind it are incredible and the concept would result in a much fairer and freer way of life, but I just don’t believe it is possible. However much some people may want it.”

Kicking and screaming, Mary was tugged out of her thoughts by the sound of a certain Irishman yet again expressing his political views at the dinner table. Did that man never learn?

She promised herself she would not get involved. She shouldn’t even be talking to him anyway. She shouldn’t even be listening to him. She had much better things to be doing.

“And as for what you said about women and the women’s rights movement well frankly I think you’re insane to think anything other than that women should have all the rights that we do.”

Had one of these men actually said that they didn’t think women should have equal rights?

Well, now she had to find out who that was. For her own sake. She couldn’t possibly end up with a man who didn’t view her as an equal and worthy person.

Allowing herself to look over at last, and doing her very best to ignore a strange fluttering feeling in her stomach simply at the sight of his wide eyes and flushed cheeks as his passion got the better of him, she was shocked to realise it was Evelyn whom Tom was talking to.

“I just don’t think they have the same role in society.” Evelyn was saying.

“Just because they have different roles doesn’t mean they are any less important.” Mary smiled almost fondly at the vibrant expressions on his face as he spoke.

“Well said, Tom.” She butted in before she could stop herself.

He started, not realising she had been eavesdropping, and turning, flashed her a charming grin that made her stone heart melt in a split second.

Evelyn, eager as ever to get Lady Mary’s attention, declared “But all women do is stay at home, while men work to get money.”

“On the contrary; I know plenty of women who work.” Mary countered.

“Like Lady Edith, or indeed, Lady Mary here, who is currently working with me on the estate, and is an asset to it.” Tom added.

Mary very nearly blushed. Except that Lady Mary did not blush. Ever.

“But it’s simply not the woman’s place to work.” Evelyn attempted.

“Why not? Because we’re not capable of it?”

“No, not at all. They simply belong in the home.” Evelyn began backtracking, faltering for words.

“But why should we stay at home all day? Do you think we enjoy sitting around and twiddling our thumbs waiting for you?” Mary demanded.

Evelyn stuttered, flushing. God, she couldn’t stand a weak man.

She suddenly became painfully aware that the rest of the table had fallen into a shocked silence.

Glancing round from face to face, she registered the looks of disapproval, surprise and confusion.

All except Tom.

Who was grinning from ear to ear, with a proud twinkle in his eye.

Mary had to do her best to stop herself from laughing out loud.

“Mary.” Came Charles Blake’s voice. “Perhaps this isn’t the time. Now, were you listening to that last bit about how the company is really looking up at the moment…”

Mary could hear the rest of the table settling back into conversation. She very nearly let them. But there was something burning inside of her, she wasn’t sure what, that gave her some kind of unearthly courage.

“Oh, but Charles, the conversation was just getting interesting. You see, politics intrigues me, especially social politics, and I do believe that there’s so much you can tell about a man from his politics.”

Charles blinked, surprised, trying to tell whether she had just been rude or complimentary or flirtatious or straightforward. It seemed many men spent a lot of time doing that around Lady Mary.

“Ok.” He agreed, uncertainty tainting his tone.

“So, go on, where do you stand on women?” she pressed.

“I believe that they are stronger than perhaps we give them credit for… I, er, suppose that it is acceptable for a woman to have a job.” Charles stuttered slightly; it was clear he wasn’t enjoying this conversation.

“Acceptable? Well, I guess it’s an improvement, at least.” Mary sighed. “Continue.”

“I don’t really have much more to say on the matter.” Charles looked positively baffled.

“What about the expectations of women?” Came Tom’s voice from across the table.

So he had been listening in. Mary couldn’t decide whether she felt flattered or annoyed.

Annoyed. Definitely annoyed.

But then why couldn’t she shake the pleased smirk?

“What expectations?” Charles looked taken aback.

“To be chaste and pure and a domestic goddess.” Tom expanded.

Charles opened his mouth. Then closed it again. He resembled a fish. Mary sighed.

“Because I warn you now, if you’re looking for a silent, obedient angel, then perhaps Lady Mary isn’t the one you want.” Tom grinned.

It took Mary a second to register the sentiment. “Mr Branson.” She declared, mocking shock, “How very dare you. I’ll have you know I am an absolute angel.”

Tom raised an eyebrow daringly. “Where do you stand on politics, Mary? What do you think about the immigrants, coloured people?”

“They don’t affect me. I think that people altogether make far too much of a fuss about them.” Mary shrugged carelessly though her heart was racing.

“What an angelic viewpoint. What about homosexuality?”

“Is this really something to be discussing with a lady at the dinner table?” Evelyn intercepted.

They both ignored him.

“I don’t necessarily believe that it’s criminal.”

“Ooh. Interesting.” Tom was teasing her now. “What about capitalism?”

“I think it works well enough.”

“But what about the poor and the extensive poverty of the lower classes?”

“I think it’s important to give to charities and help people to get up on their own two feet. But I’m not going to sell my house, my clothes, my life to help them either.”

“What about socialism?”

“Depends on who’s running it.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

"I think that perhaps, and only perhaps, the ideas are possibly feasible. As in, they could work. But then again they could fail completely and how much would people lose in the process?”

Tom nodded. Then laughed.

“What?” Mary raised her chin, defiantly.

“Imagine if I’d asked you that a few years ago. You would have shot me straight down. You’ve progressed Lady Mary, you really have.”

“But for the better or the worst?” Mary giggled.

“Well, I like to think it was my influence…”

“For the worst then.” Mary concluded, tauntingly.

They both chuckled.

The chuckle faded away into silence.

And simultaneously they became achingly aware of the absolute quiet surrounding the rest of the table.

Oh, for goodness’ sakes.

And she told herself she wouldn’t even glance at him tonight…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so bloody long to update!! Also, I don't really remember much about many of Mary's suitors - especially Charles Blake - so if I made any errors about his job or political opinions then please do let me know. Hope you are enjoying so far!


	3. Chapter 3

The night was drawing to a close.

Mary was exhausted. This was exhausting. All the fake laughter, the forced conversation, the endless battles for her attention. Was this to be her life now? Was this it?

Where were the thrills, the breathless excitement, the riveting discussions? Where was the risk, the danger, the fun?

She felt empty.

How was she supposed to decide between four men as to the one she wanted to spend her life with by weighing up the disadvantages?

She sighed.

There was movement around her; the men were fetching their coats and hats, chatting away to each other, trying their hardest to keep an air of nonchalance about them, but she could feel their eyes continuously darting to her.

And yet none of them seemed to actually notice her.

But then she looked over at them, and all she could see were Tom’s beautiful, concerned eyes fixed on hers and she felt all at once like she couldn’t breathe.

“Can I give you a hand there, Mary?” It was Charles. No, Henry. Tony?

Whoever’s it was, she accepted the hand, rising gracefully to her feet.

“Right then, chaps, I’m afraid this looks like the end. I’ve had a marvellous evening, thank you all for your most pleasant company.” She didn’t even bother identifying the voice. Either way it was met by a chorus of agreements; a sea of echoes of the same empty sentiment from an ocean of empty men.

Mary smiled and nodded her dainty head.

They walked outside onto the street. It was quiet, the moon shining, the paving stones wet from yesterday’s rain.

She stepped a little bit away for a second, breathing in the night, praying it would help her choose.

She looked back at them all, hovering, waiting for her.

Nothing.

She approached them.

Evelyn acted first. He took her hand, pressed it to his lips, desperately tried to look flirtatiously into her eyes.

She felt cold.

Charles bowed his head, took her hand, pulled her closer, pressed it to his lips, whispered something.

She didn’t hear him.

Tony was next. Took her hand, to the lips, brush of the fingertips on her face.

All she could think was that he had clammy hands.

Henry. Hand. Lips. A smile.

Nothing.

He stood back.

They were waiting for her to choose.

But she just couldn’t.

“Can I walk you home, Mary?” One of them asked.

“It would make much more sense if I did that as I’m staying just down the road.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I could do with the fresh air.”

Mary’s mind started spinning. All these empty, blurring voices; these empty, blurring faces; these empty, blurring men. Fading into a nothingness around her.

Someone touched her arm. A jump. A jolt. A shiver.

“I’ll walk Lady Mary home.” It was Tom.

A silence descended upon the group.

“It makes much more sense, seeing as I do live in the same house as her.”

None of the men could argue with that.

“Mary?” It was Charles.

“Yes. Tom will walk me home.” Mary’s brisk, factual voice surprised even herself.

“I suppose I’ll see you another time then?” Evelyn’s voice echoed towards her.

“Certainly, come up and visit again anytime. You’re always welcome. All of you.”

“Goodnight then.” Now it was Tony.

“Goodnight.”

“I had a delightful evening.” Henry.

“Goodbye.”

The figures retreated away into the night. Distant, blurring, cold, empty shadows of men.

Mary let out a rickety breath. Then she came to her senses. They had all gone. And she was left alone with Tom.

Who was still holding on to her arm.

She looked at him.

Sparks.

She wrenched her arm away as if he’d burned her.

“Mary?” he began.

“Why did you do that?” Mary gasped.

“What?” he seemed genuinely surprised.

“Why did you say you’d walk me home and send them all away like that?” her tone was demanding.

“Oh come on, Mary. Don’t pretend like we both don’t know you hated every minute of that evening.” Tom’s voice raised to match hers.

“Not every minute.” Mary’s mind flashed back to the politics conversation, of Tom’s eyes flashing mischievously at her from across the table and she almost smiled.

“Well, you still don’t want to spend the rest of your life with any of those men and you know it.” Tom shot.

“That’s not true!” Mary protested.

“Isn’t it?” Tom fired back.

They were starting to get some shocked looks from the people surrounding them, so Tom grabbed Mary’s arm and tugged her along the street a little. They walked in silence until they’d escaped the passers-by.

Mary did her best to ignore the explosions dancing throughout her at the mere touch of his hand. She pulled herself from his grip again.

“I don’t understand, Mary.” Tom sighed, stopping dead in his tracks. “What was wrong with any of them? And don’t try and pretend; you know that’s never worked with me.”

Mary closed her mouth reluctantly, turning to face him.

There was a pause.

“I don’t know.” She eventually sighed. “They just… all of them… so… dull… empty.”

“What do you mean?” Tom pressed.

“I mean… when I… they just don’t mean anything to me… Their conversation bores me, their attempts at flirting embarrass me, their touch…” She trailed off.

Another pause. Mary risked a glance at Tom and practically melted into his concerned gaze.

“You know it’s all your fault anyway!” Mary burst suddenly.

“Mary… what are you…” Tom began.

“If you hadn’t kept distracting me all night perhaps it would have been easier!” Mary didn’t understand why she was getting so angry. Well, she did, but she was stubborn and didn’t want to admit it.

“If I remember correctly, you were the one that allowed yourself to get distracted!” Tom’s face flushed with his steeply rising anger.

“Well you shouldn’t have been so interesting!” Mary knew she sounded childish but she couldn’t help herself. “Why do you get to stroll in here looking all dressed up and handsome in a simple evening suit discussing politics at the dinner table and… and… making me pay more attention to you all night than any of the men that I should have been paying attention to?”

“Mary…” Tom breathed.

Mary’s desperate heart rate slowed and red haze lifted. She blushed. And Lady Mary did not blush. Ever.

“I’m sorry, that was unfair of me. I’ve had a long evening. Please forgive my atrocious outburst.”

“Mary, don’t do that. Don’t think you can smooth over feelings like that… like, like…”

“Like what?” She could feel the cold exterior slipping back into place, saving her from herself.

“Like… I don’t know, Mary… Like they don’t mean anything!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Or have you forgotten what it’s like to be in love?”

Images of Matthew flickered into Mary’s mind. But then suddenly, Tom’s face appeared, uninvited, flashing up before her eyes. Her heart lurched.

She marched forwards.

“I’m tired, Mr Branson, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Tom grabbed hold of her arm and spun her against the wall of the nearby house, catching her body with his arms before she hit it and then imprisoning her there.

“Mary, I’m going to ask again. What was wrong with all the men tonight?” Tom’s eyes looked almost pleadingly into hers. Or was that simply wishful thinking? Mary didn’t know. She couldn’t think straight with him so close.

“I told you.” Mary insisted, breath hitching involuntarily. Shivers scorched her skin simply from his proximity. What was wrong with her?

“No you didn’t. You said some things that might have been true, but they weren’t the whole truth.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mary breathed.

“Yes you do.” Tom pushed imploringly.

“No I don’t, I…”

But her words were cut off by two soft, Irish lips pressing gently onto hers and a strong, Irish hand gripping her face with a tender passion that sent thrills racing through her.

Her whole body jerked as though someone had vigorously kicked her in the stomach. Tickling flames shot throughout her nerves, dancing right from her frantic heart to her fingertips, and her head felt like it had disengaged itself from the rest of her body and was now floating somewhere up near the clouds. Multi-coloured lights flashed before her eyes and a pounding like the beating of a drum started within her.

But then suddenly he was gone and everything stopped.

She stumbled forwards in a desperate attempt to cling to the moment.

She vaguely registered him backing away.

A cold, empty, longing sensation seeped back into her.

A voice, a lilting, Irish voice, floated across to her from a million miles away.

“I… I… I’m sorry.” It said. “I… I shouldn’t have done that… I just… I’m sorry… I’ll go…”

 _“No.”_ She wanted to say. _“No, don’t be sorry. Don’t go.”_

But she was too dazed and by the time she came to her senses, the street was empty.

She stood as though in a dream until she felt a biting cold moisture on her face.

She looked up. No rain.

And then she realised she was crying.

So she started to laugh.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had genuinely laughed this hard.

She stood on the street for some time, laughing her head off, tears pouring down her cheeks.

None of the men tonight had ever made her feel anything like this.

 _‘What was wrong with them?’_ She heard herself asking herself yet again.

And finally she knew the answer.

They weren’t Tom Branson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've been away for so long and left you all hanging but I just slightly lost track of everything for a minute and you know how it is; the crushing weight of your own existence and your own responsibilities come crashing down on you leaving little room for anything else. So I hope you all enjoyed this; I was considering doing one more chapter to set everything in stone a little more but I kinda like this ending and y'all can use your wonderful imaginations and intuition to figure out the rest. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So I think we can all agree that my fic names are just great... Pick the main event that the story is based around and name it that... Good job me. But that aside, I hope you enjoyed it, and can tolerate the cheeky passive aggressive quips at Henry Talbot (and the ridiculousness of all of Mary's suitors really). More will be on its way soon; I'm thinking this will be maybe a three chapter thing?


End file.
